


Work That Pole

by Freckles_The_Tall (orphan_account)



Category: 2P! - Fandom, 2p!talia, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Human AU, M/M, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Freckles_The_Tall
Summary: 2P!FrUK Poledancer AUFrançois poledances for money, and that's it. So when a young man by the name of Oliver Kirkland comes along and creates competition, François isn't all that pleased...(I suck at summaries just read to find out i guess)





	Work That Pole

**Author's Note:**

> I don't speak French, and rather try to rely on Google Translate and make these sentences for me, I will write in complete English but state when characters are speaking in French. However, if someone is willing to help me put such sentences into French, I would be more than happy to go back and replace them and possibly give you a fanfic for your help!! Thank you and enjoy!!

François held his head low as he walked the side-walk to the Rainbow Neon strip-club, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he took long, slow steps.

To a by-stander, he would look like he was almost ashamed of where he was going. And in a way, he was.

François wasn't going to the gay strip-club for his own personal enjoyment, no, he would never openly choose to go out of his way to see scantily clad men shaking their asses and dancing seductively around a pole as they exposed themselves to anyone who wished to see.

You see, François Bonnefoy, a French, twenty-two year old, Demisexual, College student worked at the Rainbow Neon.

François despised the place itself almost as much as he despised working there. He hated the smell of alcohol and desperation that always seemed to hang in the air; the tacky red Velvet couches where men young and old would go and sit, awaiting to be entertained; the dark Maroon walls that tried all to hard to be classy yet could never truly cover up the fact that this is where men went when they wanted to be aroused...

François had never really found anyone sexually enticing, so the fact he got on a stage and made himself very much so made him almost sick to his stomach. But, money was money, and he made quite a bit of it doing this.

When he came to America to attend college, he had a hundred dollars in his pocket, his one notebook packed with poetry, and the clothes on his back. To say the least, the money went away quickly, and François had tried and tried to find a job, but with his broken English, scrappy looking clothes, and almost packed schedual, he didn't find one until about three months later, after a slick looking man came up to him and complimented his appearance.

"May I say, Young Man, you are absolutely stunning..." The man François later came to know as Jacob Dell said to him on the bus to his apartment.

François remembered this meeting particularly for this man's accent, he thought it was weird.

François had looked at the man with confused eyes, the Frenchman's English was becoming better, but not enough so to understand the compliment he was given.

"I am not understand you, I am from France." François stated awkwardly, his voice heavily accented and shy. He stuck his hands into his hoodie pocket as he prayed that the other understood him.

"Ah, I see. I am, thankfully, bilingual. I lived in the French quarter with my mother in Louisiana." Jacob told François in French.

François' eyes widened with surprise, but he was happy none the less to know he could have a conversation with someone in full French.

"Jacob Dell, owner of the Neon Rainbow strip-club for men with refined tastes." Jacob stated with a sly tone, the line sounded rehearsed to François, his hand extended to shake with François; he had a firm hand shake, one that reminded François of his Papa.

"I was telling you that you look very handsome." Jacob chuckled, noticing the way François cheeks lit up a bit after he processed the compliment.

After François had thanked Jacob for the compliment, they had talked for a while and after François explained his financial troubles, Jacob gave him a job offer.

"Poledancing, my boy. You would be delightful at it, and it's quite honestly a easy buck." Jacob stated with a smirk on his face and a arm around François shoulders.

François kindly declined the offer, he just didn't feel comfortable with the idea of people staring at his body.

François told himself for days and days after he had kindly turned down the offer that he did the right thing, but when his rent bill popped up and he had an empty wallet... His "No thank you." quickly turned into a "Actually, I think I may take that job."

François first few weeks on the job were rough to put it lightly; he found out that Pole dancing was a cut throat business quite fast.

All the other dancers hated him; he made ten dollars a day when he was lucky; and he just couldn't find a rhythm to get into the music with.

But, slowly yet surely, François fought his way to the top. He made anywhere from six to seven hundred dollars a day, just from the money that those horny pigs that watched him threw his way; he could dance his way around the pole flawlessly; and his English was superb; he always did keep the French accent, however.

Most of the men who watched him were flamboyantly gay, clapping and cheering at him as he made his way up, down, and all around the pole as he danced. They would cat-call, and François would wink and play along, internally gagging at their attempts to get into his pants.

He opened the door to the club and entered, his violet eyes scanning the place as he thought mindlessly about what songs he would grind the pole to.

He saw Jacob make his way over to him, and a slight groan escaped his mouth in dread.

"François, Darling! How are you?" The Louisianian told him.

"Fine. What do you want?" François said bluntly, he just wanted to get his shift over and go home.

"Well, you see, Oliver's here..." Jacob laughed nervously after he had stated the issue.

François raised an eyebrow, "And?" He had heard of this Oliver guy before. Apparently, the kid thought he was hot shit; that didn't upset François, but what did was the fact that he was competition, and competition meant he would have to work even harder for his money.

Oliver, from what François had heard, was a Blue eyed, Ginger Brit who could twist his body into ways you didn't think were possible. 

And to make matters worse, he was eighteen.

Hot off the press, fresh out of the oven, new; simply put, young.

Young, that's what these dirty fuckers want, young.

So François would have to show this little boy who was boss, and make sure that this Brit stays in his place.

François made his way to the back to get ready and his eyes came across a stage that had a short man on it, Ginger and covered in freckles in a crop-top that had in pastel pink cursive letters the words "Yes Daddy!" And blue underwear; his legs wrapped around a pole as he spun down the pole to finish his dance with a split.

François' eyes widened. Damn, Oliver did have talent.

Oliver hurriedly picked up the various scattered bills off of the stage before blowing kisses at the audience and going behind the curtain.

François furrowed his eyebrows as his lips tightened into a straight line. 

This boy was going to be a problem.


End file.
